


Regrets Collect Like Old Friends

by orphan_account



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt Jughead Jones, M/M, Medical Procedures, Protective FP Jones, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 00:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: FP regrets a lot of his choices, his actions, but his biggest regret will always be not protecting his son when it matters the most.





	Regrets Collect Like Old Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Riverdale Kinkmeme fill: Tall Boy punishes Jughead for calling him a 'little bitch' and forces FP to watch.  
> Not beta'd sorry!

 

Regret tastes like steel on his tongue, sits heavy in his gut like a led weight, regret is a familiar friend to FP. Unravel his story, and there will be red dots strewn through his history pinpointing the exact moments he fucked up. Regrets, mistakes, bad choices he can't unmake reach out along his life-line. FP Jones collects regret the way his grandma collected China Dolls. They sit behind the polished glass doors, taunting him, reminding him of the day he forgot to pick Jellybean up from school, the time he broke Jug's arm in a drunken rage, the nights he made his children cry and wife frightened because rum on an empty stomach turns him into an abusive asshole. Regret collects and grows throughout his life, stretching back into the past and reaching forward to right here, right now.

This moment will go down in history as his biggest regret. It's a collection of mistakes that have led to this grimy, dimly lit basement. It started the day he went to prison and left his son, his kind, smart, lion-hearted boy alone in the big bad world. He should have done more to secure Jug's safety, pleaded with Fred to take him in, to not leave him alone to fend for himself in a town full of devious souls. FP knew Riverdale was not safe for someone like his son, who insisted on being a lone wolf, who wore his innocence and vulnerability the way he wore that damn hat. Jughead was sixteen, and he thought he could brave the world alone, thought he could wade into a dangerous gang and take over just because he was the Serpent Prince.

FP never wanted Jughead to join the Serpents; he wanted so much more for him. It's just another regret, one that takes the crown and has a fallout he can't even fathom right now. Jughead, his precious boy, is pinned to the floor beneath Tall Boy, he's kicking and thrashing like a wild animal, terrified and desperate for escape but Tall Boy is stronger than him. He laughs as Jughead struggles, as he screams ‘get off me and no and please stop’. Tall Boy eventually grows tired of Jughead resting and grabs him by the hair, yanking his head forward before slamming it back against the concert floor.

FP scream is muffled by the rag in his mouth, he strains and pulls at the ropes binding him to the chair, but it's no use. There is no escape. He's been given a front row seat to the worst show imaginable. Tall Boy is going to violate his son right before his very eyes, and the three other Serpents who are responsible for bringing him here are going to let it happen. He hopes to a God he doesn't believe in that they are just the muscle and will not be participating in the defiling of his son. Not that it makes this any less awful, there is no silver lining to this fucking mess.

Jughead screams when Tall Boy reaches for his zipper; it's guttural and utterly heartbreaking. He didn't know what was coming, not like FP, who'd feared something like this from the moment Jughead joined the Serpents. He knew that some of the people he ran with weren't to be trusted, it's why he kept Jug away from them, but never did he think he had to worry about Tall Boy. Out of all the Serpents, he'd trusted Tall Boy to look out for his son, not bring him into the fold. Not pin him to the floor and tear such terrified sounds from his throat, not rip frantic pleas to stop, to please stop from his mouth.

Tall Boy unzips Jughead’s pants, yanks them down to his ankles, eyes growing wide in terror, hands scrambling to grab anything but only finding air. He looks at FP, bruises blossoming on his face in a patchwork of colours and tears glistening in his eyes. FP looks back, keeping their gazed locked, hoping Jug knows how fucking sorry he is. Tall Boy flips him over; Jug tries to crawl away, clawing at the floor in desperation, reaching for help that is not there, help that is not coming. Tall Boy tears Jughead's underwear off with one swift tug, FP screams, curses and make threats he attends to keep. Jughead, full of fire and strength keeps trying to crawl away, even when Tall Boy drags him back and shoves a filthy spite covered finger inside him.

FP is going to kill him. He's going to cut off that finger and shove it down his throat so that he can choke to death on it. That's if they get out of this alive and if they do he doesn't know to fix this. How could anyone make this better? Jughead is being molested, is about to be raped and all FP can do is struggle against his binds, seethe in rage and shed a tear at the gut-wrenching sounds his son is making.  He doesn't know if he should look away or keep watching. He is scared to turn away, to leave Jug to suffer this cruel fate alone and yet if he watches he’ll never get the image out of his head. He thinks he deserves to live with it, to hurt as much as Jug must be hurting right now.

Jug is growing tired; his effort to escape are slowing, tears falling steadily as he resigns himself to his fate. Tall Boy yanks his arse into the air for easy accesses, FP sees every inch of Jug tense, feels his body react the same when Tall Boy lines himself up. The scream that rips from Jughead’s throat is a piercing, shrill wale that breaks FP’s heart, it’s followed by broken sobs that will haunt him for the rest of his life. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is sickening, FP tries to keep his gaze on Jug’s face, his eyes are scrunched tight, skin paling from the pain, the shock. Nothing is ever going to be same again, in this moment a part of his son is violently torn away, and this seedy basement with its leopard print throws and hideous decor will forever hold the memory.

He doesn't know how this night will end; Tall Boy could finish with Jug and put a bullet in the back of his head and one right between his eyes. The three other men could rape his son, beat him until he is a bloody mess then leave him here to die painfully and slowly right before his eyes. There are number gruesome and horrible ways this night could end, but FP prays for a chance to live, to make this right, even though he doesn’t know how to fix this, if this can ever be fixed, he still wants a chance to try. Jughead deserves more than to be raped and murdered.

Time seems to move at an agonisingly slow pace, FP watches Tall Boy ram into Jug so violently that his whole-body shudders and moves with the power of his thrusts. He resumes his struggles with the binds, straining and willing them to fray and break as Jughead cries out. There is blood seeping down his inner thighs, dripping onto the concrete floor and Tall Boy shows no mercy or exhaustion. He catches FP’s eyes, a smirk breaking out over his face, he wants to punch him, to break every bone and castrate him.

“Jingle-Jangle really helps a guy keep it up,” he says smugly, pulling out of Jug before flipping him onto his back, a spark ignites in his son, and he tries to move, to kick at Tall Boy, but a swift slap across the face has his efforts dying. Tall Boy arranges Jug's body into a painful looking position, wraps a hand firmly around his throat, choking him, before forcing himself back inside. “I could do this all night” he declares, thrusts increasing in tempo, hand squeezing around Jug's throat, leaving him gasping for breath.

FP swears at him, pulling at the ropes, the other three Serpents look weary, like at any moment he’ll bust out and kill them all. If he could, he would.

“Relax FP” Tall Boy pants “It's just a little payback, nothing he didn't ask for.”

He bristles with rage, hating the way Jughead visible reacts to the words like he believes this is a punishment he should be taking. He doesn’t understand why this is happening, why Tall Boy has turned into a monster. Then again, FP should have known, should have seen the beast lurking within, it's not like he was running with the most trustworthy, law-abiding citizens. Being a Serpent meant many things, it was a broken family that would punish you significantly if you betrayed them, he knows this well. Jughead hasn’t betrayed them, though, if anything he's become a leader in his absence, and some of the choices he made weren't the smartest but he's a sixteen-year-old kid, and this isn't who the Serpents are meant to be.

“Who’s the little bitch now, huh?” Tall Boy demands, thrusting savagely into Jug, squeezing the life from him as he shudders, coming deep inside him. “You always thought you were so smug, so smart, well how do you feel now?” he pulls out, Jughead shakes, gasps in a ragged, watery breath as air rushes back into his lungs. “You’re nothing but a filthy whore. A stupid boy who needs to know his place.” He shoves his fingers back inside him, thrusting them rapidly, pulling weak cries from Jughead’s throat when he twists them at a painful angle. “You’re not so smug now” he withdraws his fingers, rolls Jug to the side, where he lies motionless like a broken doll. “You’re just a used-up slut” he looks to the others, smirking “Anyone else want a turn?”

FP tries to speak through his gag, to threaten them, to assure them he will hunt them and destroy them if they touch his son. They seem hesitant, eyes clouding with fear and FP is glad he is still a force to be reckoned even when tied to a chair.

“No takers?” he asked like they are betting on a game, not on his son's body. “Fine, guess I could go for round two” he reaches into the pockets of his jeans, which are still bunched up around his ankles and pulls out a candy cane stripped packet, rips it open and empties the contents down his throat. “Oh, that's the good stuff.” He winks at FP, who is seething, quivering in rage, who’s heart is strewn all over the floor, lying in shattered pieces near Jughead’s trembling body. “I’m surprised you’ve never bent him over the sofa before, maybe shoved your cock down his pretty mouth? He has such lovely lips after all.”

FP feels physically sick, he might have never been a good father, evident by the horror before him, but he’d never violate his son. There had been shady folk passing through the Whyte Wyrm in the past who’d made suggestive comments about his son’s appearance. Some had even offered him money, expecting him to be happy to prostitute his underage son, who always looked so damn innocent even though he acted so tough. This had happened more than once, every time he’d punch them in the face, tell them to stay the hell away from his kid then he’d walk over to Jug, who had no clue what was happening, and take him home. Those nights he didn’t sleep, he’d sit staring at the door, waiting for some thug to break in and try to take his boy as their own.

Well, it finally happened, only it wasn't a stranger passing through town, it was a fellow Serpent, someone he considered a friend. Tall Boy will regret this, FP swears he'll suffer for the pain he is causing his son. Right now, there is nothing he can do, the binds will not break, and no one is coming to rescue them, all he can do is watch as Tall Boy shoves his dirty cock into Jug's mouth, making him gag and struggle to breathe as he forces himself in deep. It's a horrible sight; Jug deserves so much better than to be used and abused, to have some grown man who was meant to take care of him sexually assault him. FP thinks Jug is defeated, the pain has stolen all his strength, but when Tall Boy yelps, shoving Jughead backwards he realises there is still a spark.

“You’re going to fucking pay for that” Tall Boy kicks Jughead in the stomach, making him curl in on himself.

It takes a moment for FP to realise what Jughead did to warrant this, then with small satisfaction, FP puts the pieces together. He bit him; he can't help but chuckle, even if it's a messed-up thing to do in this situation.

“You think that's funny” Tall Boy's head swivels towards him, eyes blazing, wild from the drug. He grabs Jug by the hair; he isn't sure where the beanie has gone, and drags him towards him, forcing him over FP’s laps. “How about we get up close and personal?” Tall Boy slips to his knees, takes a fistful of Jug’s raven locks and thrusts his hips forward, ripping an anguished cry from Jughead’s throat.

FP is frozen, he feels Jughead’s body jerk with Tall Boys thrusts, but his mind can’t process what is happening. Jug is bent over his lap, Tall Boy right behind him, so close FP can smell the cheap beer on his breath and feel his beard against his arm, which is bound behind his back. He should do something, try to headbutt Tall Boy or maybe even attempt tipping the chair, but he can’t move, can’t breathe. All he can think is ‘my son is being raped on my lap', and all he can see is Tall Boy's thick cock sliding in and out of Jug, glistening with blood and cum, his piercing winking in the light. Bile rises in his throat, God he remembers Tall Boy bragging about how much the ladies loved his piercing, now it’s tearing up the inside of his kid.

“God, he’s still tight” Tall Boy taunts, thrusting with such brute force the chair slides across the floor a few inches. “You’re such a good boy” his hold on Jughead’s narrow hips is fierce, there are going to be finger-shaped bruises left behind. “Can’t believe you’ve never fucked him before FP? If he were my son I’d deflowered him long ago.” He bends over Jug’s, the weight painful, and nips at his ear “You’re so pretty like this, you feel so good” he purrs, voice sickly sweet “you are such a good little boy saving himself for me.”

FP can’t take this; the rage is all-consuming, his stomach is fire and acid, burning and rising up his throat to the back of his mouth. There is no course of action he can take that won’t result in Jughead getting hurt further, and if Tall Boy rams any more violently into him, then he might break apart. All he can do is look away, because he can’t stand watching the way Tall Boy thrusts into Jughead with such viciousness, only he can’t turn his head, a strong hand is forcing him to see what is being done to his son.

“Do you like what you see? Wish it were you buried in this sweet, tight little hole?” he increases his speed, thrust erratic. “Fuck, he’s not going to have such a tight little ass when I’m finished with him, shoulda took him while you had the chance FP.”

Regret pools in his gut, tears prickle at his eyes, and he has to close them, no longer able to stare at the ghastly image before him. He’ll never be able to make this right, undo the damage that Tall Boy is creating with such delight, with such malice. Jughead weeps, he wishes he could comfort him, could take him from the place and make it, so it never happened. He feels Jughead's hands against his legs, fingers holding tight to them, he hopes it offers him some comfort, that he has found a corner of his mind to hide away in until this is over.

It feels like it takes centuries, but eventually, Tall Boy cums, buried deep inside Jughead, he lets out a weak cry when he pulls out. FP wonders if it's over now, if they will be killed or if Tall Boy will be foolish enough to let them go. Surely, he isn't stupid enough to think he will get away with this? It's an agonising wait, to his left there is the sound of clothes rustling, a zipper securing in place, then a figure looms over him. Jug is still half on his lap, quivering, whimpering in pain. FP looks up, glaring daggers at Tall Boy, who looks smug and sickly pleased with himself.

“Thanks for the ride” he slaps Jug’s arse, hard, a red mark forming only seconds after, pats FP on the shoulder then walks away, the others following.

There is the sound of a door closing, footsteps, then silence, apart from Jughead's laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. Surely this is not it, he waits, tries to get Jug to look at him, to move, but he's lost inside his mind. FP doesn't know what to do, and then he smells smoke and panic kicks in. The bastards are going to burn this place down on them, let them suffocate to death. No, hell no this is not happening, this is not how he'll let his son die. 

He needs Jughead to snap out of it, he can’t imagine the pain he is in right now, but he has to come back, help them escape. He calls his name through the gag, twisting and wriggling until Jug is dislodged and slips to the floor, he feels awful about it, but it does the trick. His eyes flash with panic; he looks over FP's shoulder, maybe he's checking to see if Tall Boy is really gone or perhaps the smoke has started to seep under the door, whatever he finds spurs him into action.

He redresses, wincing as his pants slid up his legs and settle around his hips, his fingers shake so violently he can barely manage to get the zipper up, and he ignores the button entirely. He moves quickly, removing the gag from his mouth and FP wants to say a thousand things to him but now is not the time. Instead, he orders Jughead to get the knife from his jacket that is strewn across the couch a few feet away. Jughead struggles to walk, he falls over, crying out and all FP can do is tell him it’s okay, just breathe bub, but you gotta hurry.

He crawls to the couch, rummages through the pockets of the Serpent jacket before crawling back, trembling fingers finally cutting him free. FP rises, wraps Jughead in his arms and helps him to stand, he clings to him, sobbing, breaking. Momentarily he thinks maybe it would be best if they died here, found peace, but he shakes the thought from his head, he isn’t letting Jughead burn to death. This isn’t the end, he knows what it is to come will be ugly, will be painful but at least Jughead will be alive, and FP will do everything in his power to help him heal.

They have to get out of here first. He surveys the room, finding a small window that he isn’t sure he’ll fit through, but he knows Jug is small enough to and that’s all that matters right now. He rests Jughead against the wall, picks up a floor lamp with a sturdy enough looking base and slams it into the glass, it takes a good few hits, but eventually, the glass shatters. Tall Boy mustn't have realised they'd be able to escape this way or maybe he assumed the glass was too strong. It hadn't been easy to break, and there was no lock or other way to open the window, so he clears the glass away, shrugs off his flannel and uses it to offer some protection from the jagged pieces that are embedded in the concert.

“Come on, Juggie” FP steers him towards the window, feeling the cool night air rush in to greet them. “I’ll help you up.”

“I’m not leaving you” he shakes his head, gripping tightly to his arms.

“I’ll be right behind you, okay” he doesn’t have time to be gentle with Jug, the room is filling up with smoke, the floorboards creak and glow red. He spins Jughead to face the window, grabs his narrow waist and lifts him up, forcing him to shimmy through the window. When Jug’s out of sight, he pulls himself up, it’s a tight squeeze, but by some small miracle, he fits. There is time to waste, he cradles Jug in his arms and runs from the burning building.

They are in the middle of nowhere, the smoke billows into the night sky, hungry flames licking at the air, blasting through the windows like claws, searching for more life to destroy. FP keeps his back to the house falling to ruin, keeps his pace steady as he crosses the lawn that stretches out before him with overgrown grass. The edge of the property is dense with trees, the letterbox rusted, the number long gone and no street signs to be seen.

All he can do is walk, is hold tight to his son, who is silent and still in his arms, making FP fear he’s gone into shock. He sets him down on the edge of the road, leaning him against a tree trunk, he needs medical attention urgently, but FP can’t let him go into shock. He talks to him, nonsense words falling from his tongue, he tries to rub warmth into his ice like flesh, tells him to breathe, to stay with him.

“I… I’m sorry” he stuttered, coming back to himself “I’m sorry I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Hey, no, shh” FP cradles his face in his hands, in the moonlight he can't see the bruises, only the illuminance white of Jug's skin. “Juggie, listen to me, I want you to repeat this okay” he brushes away a falling tear with his thumb, “This isn’t your fault, okay? This isn’t your fault, bub.”

Jughead nods, biting back a sob as he says “Th… this isn’t my fault.”

“There you go” FP leans in, pressing a kiss to Jughead’s sweat-soaked forehead. “Are you ready to keep moving?”

Jughead shrugs, blinking back tears as his gaze takes on a faraway glance. “What happens now?”

“I'm going to take you to a friend, she's a nurse, we can trust her” he doesn't want to involve Sheriff Keller or for word to get out about this. He knows this won't be able to be hidden, that's the last thing he wants, Jughead is going to need to the support from his friends, especially Archie, but he wants this handled discreetly. Claire won't tell a soul, she'll have the medical supplies to patch Jug up, and the sheriff doesn't need to know, not that he'd care anyway. It would be brutal to force Jug to report this, to give a statement only to have his case tossed in the trash. No, FP will handle this his way, he’ll make sure his son gets the justice he deserves.

“I just want to go home.”

“I know, kiddo” FP's heart breaks, he wants nothing more than to take Jughead home, to bundle him blankets and make him his favourite soup, but this isn’t the flu, this won’t be fixed by rest.

Jughead lets out a shaky breath, FP senses he knows he isn't going home, not right away. He nods to indicate he is ready to go, FP carefully picks him up, he seems so light, God he hasn't even been feeding his kid enough. There is so much guilt, so many days, months and years spent failing his son. Regret gathers around him like an old friend, following him along the dark, empty road, a reminder of all the wrong he has done, of the pain he has caused and the pain that is yet to come. He holds tight to his son, keeps his pace steady and vows to the night that he will do better, that he’ll help Jughead recover and he’ll make Tall Boy pay.

**XxX**

Getting back to town isn’t going to be easy. The night is bitterly cold, and FP starts to feel woozy, head pounding from where he was struck by one of the Serpents. He’d just finished work at Pop’s for the day when he got a text from Tall Boy, asking him to come over to discuss something important. When he arrived Spike, one of the Serpents he wasn’t overly familiar with let him inside, he was there all of a few minutes before being knocked unconscious. He shakes the memory from his head, adjusts Jughead slightly and keep walking, ignoring the cold biting at his exposed skin, the trickle of blood down his temple and the dampness on his arm and shirt that was spreading from his son.

He needs to get them back to town, grit and bear the pain, the exhaustion creeping in and keep placing one foot in front of the other. The waning moon illuminates the highway, up ahead a street light shines on the welcome to Riverdale sign like a beacon of hope. Behind him smoke billows into the night sky, a fire engine raced past not too long ago, hearing it coming he’d moved into the shadows, but they wouldn’t have seen him, they were going too fast. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the sheriff is called and the last thing he wants is to have Keller involved in this. This is family business, and he doesn't trust Keller to get Jughead justice.

Headlights appear in the distance, moving towards them, he steps once more into the shadows, setting Jughead down in the grass, debating the best way to approach this situation. Even with only the light of the moon to illuminate Jughead, it’s all too clear he’s been assaulted. Multicoloured bruises are forming on his face; finger marks blooming to life around his neck from when Tall Boy chocked him, there are scratch marks on his bear arms and worst of all is the crimson wet patch soaking through his tan pants. He reeks of sex, fear and sweat, every inch of screams that he’s been hurt, that he’s been violated in the worst way. Jug curls in on himself, broken, weeping as FP walks towards the road and it takes all his strength to move the short distance.

Jug needs help urgently, and FP knows that flagging down a car is risky, but if he can call Claire or get a ride back to town then he’s going to have to take it. Especially when he has no idea how serious Jughead’s injuries could be. He’s been whimpering, quivering every step of the way and his heart can’t take it anymore. His boy needs help, but he must be smart about this, doesn't want someone calling the cops, it would make going after Tall Boy challenging. Not that it would stop him, but he knows deep down Jughead needs him right now and he can’t risk going back to jail.

A rust bucket of a pick-up truck comes to a stop on the side of the road, headlights blinding him, so he is unable to see who is inside the cabin. The door swings open on squeaky hinges and a figure emerges, moving towards him at a leisurely pace. FP composes himself and steps forward to greet the stranger, he can’t let his emotions get in the way right now. The man finally reaches him, with the backdrop of headlights FP can barely make out his face, but he can see the glint in his eyes, and he finds something troubling in the man's gaze.

“You in some kind of trouble?” he asks.

“My son's hurt” he doesn't gesture towards Jug, who is huddled in the tall grass, but the man's eyes turn in that direction, narrowing ever so slightly as he takes in Jughead. “Can I borrow your phone, please? I need to make a call.” The man looks back at him, FP can't read his expression in the dark, “or a ride back to town would be greatly appreciated” he pushes, wanting nothing more than to get Jughead to Claire's.

“What happened to him?” he asked, stepping towards Jughead but FP blocks his path, he doesn't trust this man one bit. “He looks familiar” the way he says this makes FP's skin crawl, and he considers telling the guy to forget it, but that isn't going to help Jug.

“The less you know, the better” he keeps his tone firm, stance strong even though he feels like falling apart. “Can you help us or not?”

“We’re not far from town, doesn’t seem right to leave you out here in this state. Where are you headin?”

“Fox Avenue, on the north side” Claire may live on the northside, but she grew up on the south. FP met her one night at the hospital about five years ago, he'd gotten into a drunken brawl, and Claire had patched him up. They'd bonded over their shared history; she'd been an army medic for a few years before returning to Riverdale where she went into nursing and volunteered at the free medical clinic that was on the south side. She could be trusted to take care of Jug, she'd give him the best care, and she'd understand why they couldn’t go to the sheriff.

“Alright, well get your kid and climb in.”

FP watched the man walk away before moving towards Jug, trying to help him rise but he refuses to stand. “Juggie, it’s okay, you’re safe” he reassured, collecting him in his arms, even though Jughead tried to push away.

“No, he’s not safe” he whispered, eyes alive with panic.

FP lowered him, holding tight to his waist, so he didn't crumble to the ground. “Is this the guy you were telling me about?” he recalls Penny ordering Jughead to deliver a crate to Greendale, he'd had to force the details from Jug's unwilling tongue, but when Penny was involved, he needed to know everything. Jughead said Archie's truck got a flat and he'd gotten a ride from a trucker who told him about the Riverdale Reaper and turned slightly aggressive when he was unable to pay for his meal. Archie had swept in at the right time and saved the day, Jug’s exact words, he looked so fond when he spoke them, now all FP can see is pain and fear.

“Yes” he nods, “we can’t go with him.”

“We don't have much of a choice, Jug” FP doesn't know how dangerous this man is, but he certainly senses something off about him. Still, he is the kind of guy who won't ask questions or go tattling to the sheriff, and it's only a short drive back into town. If he tries anything, FP won't hesitate to hurt him. He isn't going to fail his son twice in one night. “I won't let anyone hurt you again” he vows, and he will, he will do whatever it takes to keep his son safe from the wicked hearts of men. “I need you to be brave just a little longer, kiddo.”

Jughead blinks, nods and makes a tentative step towards the road, legs almost giving way. FP helps him to the truck, hating the way he winces and shudders with every step. When they get to the truck FP realises there is only one passenger seat, so Jug has to sit on his lap. In the faintly lit cabin, FP can now see the stranger more clearly, he looks to be in his late fifties, has a rough redneck aurora to him and dark eyes that feel piercing against his skin, like he can see into his mind, discovering every sin and mistake he’s ever made. Jughead buries his face in the crock of his neck, shivering from the cold, chest heaving as he gasps in ragged breaths.

The man starts the engine, gives them a sidelong glance that makes FP’s skin crawl and arms instinctively tighten around his son. He says nothing as they head back to town, FP keeps his gaze firmly on the road, watching the forest give way to homes that are silent and dark in the dead of night. There nearly at Claire’s when the pieces start slotting together. He wasn’t consciously trying to find a reason behind tonight’s nightmare, the thought rose without warning, prompted by the strange man next to him, or rather Jughead’s story about him and how they’d crossed paths in the first place.

Because Penny Peabody had made Jug her drug maul. She’d had him and the other Serpents delivering drugs and he still would be if Jughead and the younger Serpents hadn't driven her out of town and banished her. Of course, it wasn't going to be that simple; Penny wasn't going to be scared off by some kids playing tough. He has no proof, only a gut feeling that Penny had helped organise tonight. There was too much foresight, a place for the assault to happen, a perfect and cruel way to destroy the evidence; it had Penny Peabody written all of it. Which meant Tall Boy was in with her, the other three Serpents most likely as well.

There were traitors in his midst. Traitors who were willing to align with the Snake Charmer and be a part of the violation of his son. He was going to have to lay low while he got to the bottom of this, but right now the most important thing was his son. Revenge could wait.

***

Claire's house appears in the distance; the quaint, charming home has never seemed so welcoming. Inside is dark, silent, FP hopes to God she is home, but at least they have arrived at a safe harbour. The strange man drops them off; he kept glancing from the road to Jughead throughout the drive. FP wasn't sure if he recognised him in the state he was in, but he did eventually speak, turning down the radio that had been broadcasting some raving lunatic talking about damnation and God's wrath. He asked FP if he believed in the devil, if He had come to Riverdale dressed as the Black Hood to cleanse this town of sinners.

He didn't answer right away; Jughead flinched in his arms, FP kept his tone even as he replied. He believed in devils, that people were capable of being evil, of doing wicked things and he'd believed this long before he held his assaulted son in his arms. He knew there were devils in hiding, he’d seen the darkness inside himself, had done things he wasn't proud of, and tonight he felt like he was finally being punished. Jail was nothing compared to this. If he was offered a choice to spend forever in prison and this night will be erased then he'd take it, he'd die if it would undo the damage Tall Boy had done. But there is no one offering him a choice to change this, no wishes or spells to fix this, just regret and guilt.

The truck comes to a stop in Claire’s driveway, engine idling, FP goes to open the door when the man grabs his arm.

“You look familiar” his eyes narrow, “have I seen you around before?”

“It's a small town” he replied briskly, helping Jug to slide off his lap so he could get out. “Everyone's seen everyone at some point” there is relief in his chest when Jug's feet hit the ground, he leans heavily against the car for support. “I really gotta get my kid inside.”

“I have seen you” he continues, like FP hadn’t spoken, grip tightening. “Aren’t you the guy who dumped Jason Blossom’s body in the river?”

“Never met the kid” he lied, shaking off the man’s hold with ease before slipping out of the car, wrapping Jug in his arms and steering him towards the house.

“Sinners always get what’s coming to them” the man shouts after them, “and it looks like God has punished you by hurting someone precious to you” he gestures to Jughead, who pales at the words.

FP wants to tell him to fuck off; he doesn't know what he's talking about, this wasn't God's work, it was the work of a sick man and a spiteful woman. But regardless it's still his fault; Jughead was still hurt because of him. He was alone and went to the wrong person for help, FP left him with the wrong people to take care of him, and none of this would have happened if he’d swallowed his pride and ask Fred to foster him.

“You should think on your sins” the man calls out one last time, before driving off.

Silence falls over them, inside lights switch on and it spurs FP into action. He makes it to the front door just as Claire opens it, peering out into the night to see what the commotion was about. The porch light illuminates her dark features; her eyes widen as he approaches, Jughead limping along beside him, barely conscious. 

“What the hell happened?” the door swings open, she rushes out into the night to help him.

“Some of our own turned on us” he answered, stepping inside out of the cold, “this is personal, we can't involve the sheriff.” He makes this very clear before going any further, true to her nature, Claire nods firmly, not a soul will hear about this. She locks the door before leading them through the house to the dining room; telling FP to sit Jughead on the table while she goes to collect her medical supplies. Jughead winces when he sits, skin pale and freezing to the touch. 

“You hangin in there, kiddo?”  FP knows he must be in agony, the look in his eyes, the hitch of breath says it all, but he needs to keep him awake, keep him calm.

“Hangin in there” he murmurs, trying to force a smile and FP believes Jug will be alright, they’ll get through this, it’s just going to be messy and painful.

“It’s nearly over” he promises “We’ll get you patched up then I’ll take you home, okay?”

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip, he looks so small, so helpless. “It hurts” he whimpers “it really hurts” his breath hitches, tears trickling down his face.

“Where's it hurt?” he can take a wild guess, but in all honesty, every inch of Jughead appears black and blue.

He lets out a pained whine, bowing his head to hide his face “it hurts inside.”

Claire rushes back into the room before he can offer any further comfort, carrying some blankets and a first-aid bag. She orders FP to lift Jug off the table before throwing a comforter over the polished surface. She helps FP settle Jughead down on the table, eyes travelling over his body, checking for injuries. She meets FP's eyes, they glisten with tears, with understanding, it's all too evident what has been done, and he is glad he doesn't have to say it. He doesn't think it would leave his tongue, he knows it's true, that his son has been raped, he saw it happen, but he is not ready to speak the word.

“FP can you can undress him while I get a few more things? I'll leave the blanket here” she lays it on the chair, pats him sympathetically on the shoulder before disappearing into the house once more.

FP helps Jughead take off his shirt and boots, setting it aside before moving to unlace his boots. It's when he comes to the fly on Jug's pants he encounters a reaction, Jughead jerks away, almost falling off the table in his haste.

“Hey, it’s just me kiddo” he holds up his hands “I need to get you undressed Jug, Claire’s gotta take a look at you.”

Jughead closes his eyes, but it doesn't stop the tears from falling, shakily he unzips his pants, shoving them down his thighs so FP can ease them off completely. He works quickly, tossing them to the floor, stomach turning at the sight of blood that has soaked through the material. Taking the blanket, he places it over his son’s trembling frame, FP tries to rub some warmth into his body and offer what little comfort he can.

Claire returns, their eyes meeting, a silent agreement that it's time and a warning this isn't going to be pleasant, it's going to be painful and horrible, but there is no other choice. FP will follow her every order; he'll support Jug through this ordeal and do his very best not to break.

“Hey, Jughead, I'm Claire” she sits down on the table next to him, offering him a gentle smile. “I'm going to start examining you now if that's okay?”

Jug nods, reaching for FP’s hand.

“If anything hurts or if things get too much I want you to tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” he croaks.

“Alright,” she slips off the table, demeanour shifting from motherly to focused and professional. “We’ll start at the top and work our way down,” She lifts her gaze to meet FP’s; he nods in understanding, she'll leave the worst to last.

FP stays at Jughead’s side, holding his hand, feeling Jug’s fingers stiffen or grip firmly whenever Claire finds a sore spot. There doesn't appear to be any broken bones in his face, a few abrasions and deep blooming bruises but nothing needs stitches. She methodically works down his body, examining his throat which is ringed in red and purple hued bruises, there is no swelling, and though it's causing him discomfort, it could have been worse. More bruises are littering his torso and stomach, a possible fractured rib but it’s hard to tell without an x-ray, so Claire makes a note of it to recheck at a later point.

It seemed to take no time at all until Claire has reached his narrow hips, hesitating before explaining with a gentle, yet firm tone that she was going to have to perform an internal examination. Jughead didn’t put up a fight, didn’t resist when he had every right too, but he must have known this was coming. He does as Claire asks without question, though the look of misery, of defeat in his eyes, breaks FP's heart. He can't stay by Jug's side for this; Claire needs him to assist her. 

Jug doesn't want to go, he looks at him with wild, frightened eyes, and it takes all his strength to move the short distance to the end of the table where Claire is sitting between his open legs. All he has to do is hold the flashlight so that Claire can see the extent of his injuries, and yet it's the hardest thing he's ever to do. He shouldn't look, he's seen enough horrors to last a lifetime, but he feels compelled to see the damage that has been done. There is so much blood; it's mattered in the short hairs on Jug's thighs, it's trailed down his skins, stark against the pale flesh. There are more bruises on his thighs, and he knows there will be handprints left on his hips from where Tall Boy held onto him so violently.

Jughead cries out when Claire begins, FP places a hand on his knee, steadying him “It's okay, Juggie” he says though it's not, none of this is okay, but he needs to keep Jughead calm through this. “It'll be over soon; you're doing so good.” He rubs soothing at his leg; the tension ebbs slightly from his body. “How bad is it?” he whispers to Claire when Jughead has settled.

“There’s a lot of blood” she replied, voice hushed “I'm going to have to clean the area before I get a proper look” she rises, motioning for him to follow her into the hallway. “I have a bad feeling he's going to need stitches, and I can't do that here, without a sedative it would be too painful, and I'm worried about infection.” She takes off her gloves, the fingers glisten with blood, “I think we should move him to the clinic, I have a key, and once we're there, I'll have everything I need. Unless I can get you to reconsider going to the hospital?”

FP deflates, bone tired, body heavy, barely holding it together. He needs to do right by Jughead. He doesn't want to involve the cops, they will ask Jughead a thousand invasive questions, they might even bring in child services, and in the end, it could be for nothing. Tall Boy could walk free or get some slap on the wrist, especially if he’s working with Penny, and Jughead would become the talk of the town, a cautionary tale for the well-to-do north siders. He won’t put his son through anymore, Tall Boy, Penny and the other’s will get what’s coming to them.

“I would really prefer we keep this between us.”

“Okay, then we take him to the clinic, but I’m going to be as thorough as a hospital. It’s not going to be comfortable for Jug, but he is at serious risk of infections and HIV. I will need you to tell me what happened when this over and who did this. I don't want to be left in the dark, not when it could impact Jug's health and or recovery.”

FP freezes at the mention of HIV, God he hopes Tall Boy doesn’t have anything, that’s the last thing they need. “It was one of our own” he echoes his earlier words “Tall Boy… he did this.”

“I'm sorry,” and he knows she is, she has helped the Serpents a lot over the years, she's even been allowed into the Whyte Wyrm, she is one of their own. “We'll make him pay” there is sharpness to her words, a silent promise that she'll help get Jughead justice. “I'm going to get the keys; do you want to tell Jughead what is happening?”

“Yeah” he takes a deep breath and forces the pieces back together, he can break later. “He’ll be okay, won’t he?”

Claire’s eyes shimmer with sympathy, her words chosen carefully. “It’s going to be a long road ahead of him FP, but medically I will do everything in my power to make sure his body heals, the rest I can only support him through.”

He nods, angrily brushes away the tears as he steps back into the room, finding Jughead staring into space. “Kiddo” he calls to him as he approaches. “You still with me?” Jughead snaps back, jumping slightly, eyes flickering with panic. “Hey, you're okay” he reassured, “it's just me.”

“Sorry” he mumbles “what’s happening?”

“We're taking you to the clinic, you need some stitches, and Claire can't do that here” he explained.

“Do I have to go?” God, he sounds so broken, so scared.

“I'm afraid so Jug; you're hurt pretty bad.”

Dark lashes fluttered closed, failing to cage the tears “I just don’t want to be touched there, it hurts so much” his voice cracks as he speaks, sobs escaping into the night air.

“I know, I’m so sorry bub” he doesn’t have anything else to say, can’t take Jug’s pain or misery, all he can do is run his fingers through his messy raven locks. It's what he used to do when Jughead woke from a nightmare, but this wasn't some bad dream, there was no waking up from this. “Claire will give you something for the pain, and I'll be there the whole time.”

He nods, taking a shuddering breath, he’s doing his best to be brave, to be strong and FP is so damn proud of him. “I didn’t mean for this to happen” he sobs “I’m sorry.”

“Shh” FP leans in, embracing him in a gentle hug, Jug clings to him for dear life. “Remember what I said? This isn't your fault. What happened tonight shouldn't have happened, and I am so, so sorry that it did, but you are not to blame for this” he eases back, holding him at arm’s length. “Tall Boy hurt you, and you did nothing to deserve it, do you understand Jughead?”

“Yes,” he says, sounding like he doesn't believe it, but he will, FP will never stop reminding him of that.

“It’s time to go” Claire appears in the doorway, keys in hand. “You ready FP?”

He doesn't think he'll ever be ready for what is to come next, for what must come next, but he picks Jughead up and carries him to the car, hating the thought of what he is about to be put through. He'll do his best to comfort him; he'll brush away the tears and hold his hand. As awful and painful as this is going to be for Jug it is nothing compared to the emotional trauma that will follow this night. He won’t be able to get Jughead through this alone, he’ll have to tell Gladys, God she’s going to be furious, and he knows Jughead will need Archie’s support in the coming months. God this will break Archie's heart.

Tonight, he has to be enough for Jug. When the sun rises, and Jughead is tucked into a warm bed somewhere safe he can shed the tears threatening to spill, he can rage and cry and come apart. He'll shatter when no one is looking; he'll let out the grief, the disbelief and the anger then pull himself together again, so he can do his damn best to help Jug recover.

**XxX**

Everything hurts. Nothing feels right. It’s like he’s fallen into someone else’s life or he’s stuck in a vivid nightmare and though he wants so desperately to wake he can’t. Something keeps him here. Reality ripples around him, it feels like he is lost at sea, body being carried to different events by the strong undercurrent. One moment he is the back of a car, father so close he can smell his aftershave, the next he is on the floor, reaching frantically for help, a lifeline to pull himself to safety. Only his fingers come up empty and there is pain, deep and tearing, forcing a scream from his lungs. It's agony; it's like he's being split open. He feels sick, it's all all-consuming.

Then it's not; it's a dull, deep throb that sends a jolt up his spin with every step taken, only he is not walking, he is being carried in his father's arms. He tries to hold on, to stay centred in the moment, but the raging waters drag him under, dropping him onto his father's lap. It hurts even more the second time Tall Boy takes him, thrusts so violent he fears he'll break apart. Weak cries escape his abused throat, he can taste Tall Boy on his tongue, still feel him forcing his cock down his throat. There is blood trailing down his trembling thighs, he can't breathe, can't believe he is bent over his father’s lap and someone he thought could trust is raping him.

There is smoke, glass shattering, glistening in the moonlight, wooden floorboards glowing red then there are headlights, a waning moon, a house burning in the night. The world rush by then darkness. Heavy lids fluttering open he finds himself in a small white room, bright fluorescent lights glaring down at him. For one terrifying moment he thinks he is alone, that his dad is gone but clarity settles around him, and he finds his father at his side, blue eyes full of pain and regret. He blinks, and it's gone, Jughead wonders if he only imagined it.

Taking in his surroundings he realises that they've arrived at the clinic and he is lying on a narrow bed; a soft blanket has been draped over his bruised and battered body. There is the sound of drawers opening and closing, metal on metal, the rustle of plastic and the hammering of his heart in his ears. He knows what's to come, he is terrified and wants nothing more than to flee, to beg his dad to take him home, but that isn’t an option. He doesn't want to think about the damage; the pain is profound, it’s a deep ache that spreads from between his legs up to his stomach. It hurts like hell, and he just wants it to stop.

“I’m going to put an IV in Jughead,” Claire says, reaching for his hand, he flinches slightly at her touch. “I'm going to take some blood and give you some fluids and a mild sedative for the pain. Are you okay for me to proceed?”

He nods, it hurts to talk, the skin on his neck burns, like the cabin in the woods, burning away the evidence of the night, but the smoking remains will hold the truth of what transpired there. Fire cannot cleanse away the sins of men. A sharp sting pulls him back, he watches the needle disappear into his skin, the crimson liquid flows into the tubes, it starts to make him feel dizzy, he takes a deep breath and lets his eyes briefly flutter closed.

“Alright, the sedative will take a few moments to work” Claire explained. “You’ll start to feel like you’re floating, it might feel a little strange but remember you are completely safe. When it’s kicked in I’m going to start, okay” he nods once more, and she continues. “I’m going to be very thorough, if it gets too painful or too much, I will stop until you’re ready for me to continue.”

He hates this; he feels so exposed, trapped with his legs secured firmly in the stirrups. Looking away from Claire and the tray with its gleaming medical tools he finds his father’s eyes, reaching out to him for comfort. His dad takes his hand, cards his fingers through Jug’s messy raven locks, for a moment he is six-years old again, this is just a bad dream, his dad will scare away the monsters, and he'll fall asleep knowing he is safe and sound. Only this is not a six-year-olds nightmare; they were about clowns or the kids who bullied him at school, this was the reality of someone who'd stepped into the darkness and found where the real monsters lived.

They were friends hidden in disguises, trusted faces hiding deep, dark secrets and twisted desires. He'd put his trust in the wrong people; he'd waded into a world he didn't know the first thing about and took charge, gave orders, antagonised, all because he thought he was untouchable. He wasn't untouchable; he wasn't revered as The Serpent Prince, he was just a stupid kid playing in a grown-up world and in that world people like Tall Boy existed. In that world kids like him were taken to sordid basements and violated, they were used and abused, and that's just how it was. These kinds of things happen to kids like him.

He can’t hold back the tears; the memories come crashing in, the world is bright and blinding. He cries, sobs ripping from his throat, shattering him apart in the most brutal way. It’s too much, the bright lights, the smell of antiseptic, the feel of Claire’s fingers inside him. He screams, banging his fist on the bed in frustration. There is a logical part of him that just wants to get this over with, but the fear is stronger, it’s a raging fire swallowing him whole.

“Jug, hey, shh.”

His dad holds him down; the panic spreads, reality fritzing, sending him back to the basement, where there is a heavy, sweaty body bending him out of shape, hips ramming into his backside so forcefully he is sure there will be bruises. It feels like he’s going to die, the pain is alive, is taking over and he can’t breathe, can’t see because of the black spots dancing in his vision. There is a shift, and the pressure from his throat is gone, he gasps in a deep breath, refilling his gasoline lungs. He finds his dad’s face, reaches for him, for something safe and real to hold onto.

“You’re safe” he whispers, gently resting him back down on the bed. “You’re safe, Jug.”

“I want to go home.” He wants to fall into bed, no he wants to shower, to scrub at his skin, make it bleed, peel it away to find someone new and untouched beneath. “Can we go home, please?”

“When Claire is finished, Jug” he sits down beside him, fixing the blanket, so it's snug around his bare shoulders. “I wouldn't be putting you through this if it weren't important. You gotta be brave just a little longer.”

“It feels horrible,” he confessed, “I feel horrible.”

His dad has no words to offer, instead he leans forward, kissing his forehead tenderly. “It’ll be over soon” he promises, “just try and stay with me, okay?”

“I can talk you through this?” Claire offered, she’s still sitting between his spread legs, waiting patiently.

Jughead looks from her to his dad, there is nothing that will make this any less awful, and he wishes she'd just fully sedate him but if she hasn't already then there must be a reason why. Knowing what is happening, what she's doing will at least help his mind distinguish her actions with the very raw memories of what Tall Boy had done to him. He feels so tired, exhausted, his limbs feel weightless, like he is a feather floating in the air, but there is an undercurrent of fear, and it's creeping through the drug, reaching out with claws and gnashing teeth.

“Okay” he finally speaks.

“You sure kiddo?” his dad questions, eyes so damn tired, so full of sadness and worry.

“I think it will help” he offers a feeble smile in reassurance. “My mind keeps pulling me back to… to earlier” his breath hitches. “I want to know what’s happening” he needs to know what Tall Boy has done, though it frightens him. The pain has been immense, he can only imagine the damage Tall Boy has caused. He wonders if there will be any permit issues from tonight, if Tall Boy has broken his body the way he has Jug’s mind.

“I’m right here, bub” his father takes his hand, kissing his knuckle.

“I know” he squeezes his dad’s fingers, looks to Claire, takes a deep breath, tries his best to be brave, though tears are gathering in his eyes and says, “I’m ready.”

“Okay,” she gives him a brief smile, gentle and reassuring then her demeanour changes and she is professional and collected. “I’m going to start by cleaning the area, it might sting in some places and it might be difficult but try to stay as relaxed as you can. I’m going to start now, okay.”

Jughead flinches at the first touch, crushes his father’s hand in the moment of panic. He wants to get this over with, to go home and shower, scrub at his skin, shed the memories of this night, let them disappear down the drain forever. It’s not going to be that easy; he isn't going to wake up tomorrow and be able to go on with his life like nothing happened. People will notice, his friends will see the bruises, sense the fear, and they will ask what happened. 

Archie will ask who hurt him, and he won't be able to lie, he isn't sure he wants too. This seems too big for him and his father to handle alone. The aftermath will be painful; it could destroy him, take the last piece of fight Jug has left and crush it to dust. Tonight, he lost a part of himself, Tall Boy violently stole his virginity, shattered his world and there is no undoing the events of this Godforsaken night. Jughead Jones is gone, is left burning in the ashes and the boy on the table, trembling and close to tears, is the broken mess left behind.

“Jug, you need to try and stay still” Claire calls to him “take some deep breaths, I’m going to rub the inside of your thighs, okay? Just to help relax you. I’ll tell you when I’m going to start again.”

“It hurts daddy” he feels so young.

“Shh, I’m sorry bub, I know this is unpleasant but you’re being so brave” he soothes, resuming stroking his curls. “Take deep breathes Juggie, try to picture yourself somewhere else.”

Closing his eyes, he takes in a breath, trying to move his mind through time, to a place, a day where there was golden sunshine, warmth, happiness. He is fourteen years old, riding his bike through Fox Forest, the sun trickles in through the overlocking branches, catching Archie’s hair on fire. They are sixteen and sitting down by the river, it’s a lazy autumn afternoon, things were bad between them for a while there, but now things are better, things are different.

They shared a kiss at Pop’s, lips tasting of chocolate and coffee, it felt like time stood still, suspending them under the neon lights. Time begins to move when they break apart for air, Archie's eyes reflected red lights and desire. There were stolen kisses, secret meetings, sneaking around and playing a thrilling game of will we or won't we get caught. Jughead walked along the fault-line; he stepped into the life of a Serpent, he joined them, put distance between himself and Archie. He told himself he did it to keep him safe, and that was partly true, but he the more he fell into darkness, the more he knew he was unworthy of Archie’s love.

And he was right; he opens his eyes, feels pain and a strange, uncomfortable sensations between his legs and knows he did the right thing. He kept Archie safe from the darkness; it's just a shame he couldn't do the same for himself. He is the collateral damage in a war that he doesn't understand; he was punished for being born on the wrong side of the tracks, for speaking freely. He looked into the abyss, and the abyss looked back, reached out and claimed him as his own.

The bright images have escaped from his grasp; he can't escape the present, it’s vivid and painful. He bits his tongue to hold back the whimpers, clasps tight to his father’s hands as Claire’s fingers seem to move deeper, things he can’t identify slipping inside him. The urge to scream builds in his chest, to beg for her to stop, to just let him be, but he knows she isn't going to leave him to succumb to his injuries, and his dad isn't going to take them home until this over.

“Alright, sweetie” she pats his knee gently, and he thinks for one blissful moment it is over, but it isn’t, and he isn’t sure how much more he can take. Claire removes her gloves; the sight of the dark blood and white subsistence on them makes his stomach churn, he swallows the bile, watching Claire approach them.

“I've cleaned the area, and I was able to get a better view of the extent of the injuries.” She rests a hand on his shoulders, keeping her tone even as she speaks “Jug, I’m so sorry, but there is deep tearing alongside the inner right wall of your rectum” God, he can only imagine that was from Tall Boy’s piercing, the way it dug into him was excruciating. “These will need be sutured, along with a few other internal years and external injuries will need to be treated differently, which I will get to in a moment. There is also bruising and swelling, this will take a few days to go down.” She pauses, letting the words sink in, Jughead feels sick, his father has paled, anger flickering in his eyes.

“There is a high risk of infection, so I’m going to send you home on antibiotics.” Claire continues, looking up to meet his father's eyes “and if Jughead gets a fever, or the swelling worsens, or there is severe internal pain you will have to bring him back in as he might need a course of IV antibiotics. I’m also going to give you an ointment, which will need to be applied internally and externally twice a day.”

Jughead feels like he’s going to hyperventilate, this is too much, he doesn’t want to be touched there, to have his father do that to him. He knows he’d never hurt him, but his hands are strong like Tall Boys, calloused, able to break things so easily. No, his dad would never violate him, he needed this to heel, he could try himself, but Claire wouldn’t be tasking his dad with it if it were something he could manage on his own.

“I know this is a lot to take in, for both of you, but we need to work quickly to avoid infection setting in” her dark, kind eyes look from FP’s to his “Are you ready for me to continue?”

“No” he answers honestly “but I want to get this over with.”

“I'm going to be as gentle as I can” she assured, “I, unfortunately, don't have any anaesthesia available, but I am going to give you a little more sedative to make this as comfortable as possible.” She moves to the drip, fielding with the IV line.

“Will it hurt?”

“There is a chance that you will feel some bits of the procedure, pressure and a little pulling” she turns back to face him, it’s time. “Alright, sweetie, when this takes effect I am going to begin. I’ll be using dissolvable sinew to suture the wounds then applying the ointment to the shallow tears. Over the next few days you’re going to be very sore, so you will need to take it very easy, but your father and I will talk more later about that. Are you starting to feel the effects?”

“I can’t” he couldn’t, the panic was growing, rising to tighten around his already aching throat.

“Can't what bub?” his father asked, voice tight with a dozen emotions.

“I can’t do this anymore, I’m not strong enough” he felt the splinters grow, cracking like the glass, raining down in pieces as he broke.

“Juggie, hey, shh” FP cupped his face in his hands, sweeping away the tears. “Listen, to me kiddo, I know you are hurting right now, and I know you are scared, but you are strong enough to get through this. You've been so brave tonight; I am so proud of you baby boy.” Jug relaxed under the touch, feeling safe for a few precious moments. “I’m going to help you through this, okay? I’m going to be right here, holding your hand” he takes Jug’s hand, squeezes it lightly “and when it's over, I'm going to take you home, like I promised.”

“Okay,” he says weakly “okay.”

“I've got him, Claire, let's just get this over with.”

“This shouldn’t take any more than fifteen to twenty minutes” she pats him on the shoulder once more before moving back to sit between his legs.

“Dad?”

“I’m right here, Jug.”

“It hurts” he whimpered, feeling Claire begin.

“I’m sorry baby” he whispered, caressing Jug’s arm. “It'll be over soon; we’re on home run.”

“Can you keep talking to me, please?”

“What do you want me to talk about bub?”

“Anything.”

He smiles, feeble and tired but it makes the corners of Jug’s mouth twitch. “Remember when you used to have nightmares as a kid? And your mum would send me in because it was usually my fault you and Archie had found something scary to watch.” There is a flicker of regret in his eyes, unshed tears glistening in the light, but he pushes on, “and I would check the room for monsters before tucking you back into bed-”

“-And you’d sing.” Jughead has vague memories of these nights, before he got older and his father stopped checking for monsters under the bed because he was passed out on the couch, so he'd sneak out to the treehouse, and when he was older he'd go to Archie's. 

“I’d sing” he echoes, “Say your prayers little one, don't forget, my son to include everyone,” He started “Tuck you in, warm within keep you free from sin, till the sandman he comes…”

Jughead lets his father’s voice wash over him, letting the song carry him back in time, setting him down in the bedroom he grew up in with its star-speckled ceiling and cosy bed. “Sleep with one eye open gripping your pillow tight,” he murmured, eyes drifting shut.

Exit light, enter night, take my hand, off to never, never land

Something's wrong, shut the light heavy thoughts tonight, and they aren't of snow white

Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragon's fire and of things that will bite

Sleep with one eye open gripping your pillow tight

 

Exit light, enter night, take my hand, off to never, never land

Now I lay me down to sleep pray the lord my soul to keep if I die before I wake pray the lord my soul to take

Hush little baby, don't say a word and never mind that noise you heard

it's just the beast under your bed, in your closet, in your head.”

Despite the dark undertone to the song, the sound of his father’s voice lulled him into a state of calm. There was the distance feeling of pressure and a tugging sensation with the occasional flicker of pain, but he tried not to focus on that, instead he let the lyrics carry him back in time, to a place where he knew not of such horrors and to a room where he was just a child, safe in his father’s arms.

XxX

FP is about ready to collapse by the time he carries Jughead through the door of the trailer. It's nearing one am, and all he wants to do is go to bed, sleep for days and wake up to discover this was just a fucked-up dream. If only that were possible. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but it’s not going to be pleasant. From tonight onwards everything is going to change, and FP doesn’t have a damn clue how he’s going to handle it. Getting Jughead to Claire, taking care of his injuries that was nothing compared to what came next. Helping Jug through the emotional aftermath is going to be the hardest battle of his life, and he is terrified, because if he fails he could very well lose his son.

He knows Jug is strong, always has been a fighter, ever since he was born, but this, this isn't Jug getting bullied or nursing a broken heart because Archie abandoned him, this so vastly different. God, his son was raped, and there is no easy or quick fix for this, there is only a long, gruelling road of recovery. Tonight, he has to put that out of his head; he is too exhausted to focus on what's to come; he has a tired, fragile child to look after.

Claire has driven them home to the trailer, it feels strange, like it's been a hundred years since he was last here when it reality it had only been this morning. He'd been in a hurry to get to Pop's, didn't even stop to hug Jug goodbye as he sat at the table eating a bowl of cereal. He wished in that moment he knew what the day would bring, he would have told Jughead to get on the next bus out of here, go to his mother's, get somewhere safe. But he didn't, he breezed on by, and Jug called out ‘see you’ around a mouthful of Lucky Charms, and he didn't say anything back because he was too distracted and a little pissed at having to work long hours mopping floors.

Now FP is laying his barely conscious son down on the bed, searching through drawers for some clothes so he can at least give him some modesty back. He tentatively dresses him in an oversized t-shirt that he hasn’t seen before, thinks maybe it’s Archie’s, but has no time to spare on the thought as he helps Jughead shimmy into his checkered pyjama shorts. When Jug is dressed, he tucks him into bed, grabbing the extra blanket from the closet in hopes of easing the tremors that hadn’t stopped.

“Stay” he begs, latching onto his wrist as he goes to leave.

“I’m coming back” he promises “I’ve just going to talk with Claire. You’re safe now, bub, try to get some sleep.”

He lets go, glassy eyes fluttering shut. FP stays a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way he used to when Jughead was a newborn, and he was afraid if he left the room he'd stop breathing. Tired, ready to fall apart, to give into the storm raging inside his mind, swelling in his chest he leaves, burying his emotions, it wasn't time to break yet. Claire is waiting for him the kitchen; she had brewed him a mug of tea and set Jug's medication on the table for the morning.

“How you holding up?” she asked as he slumped into a chair.

“I honestly don’t know how I’m still standing” he takes a sip of the tea, eyes glancing over the pill bottles and back to Claire’s face, she looks as tired as he feels. “Thank you for helping us. I owe you.”

“You don't owe me” she declared “just promise me you’ll get the sorry of sons of bitches who did this.”

“I will; there is no way Tall Boy is getting away with this.” It doesn’t feel right to say his nickname name anymore, the one the Serpents gave him, he isn’t a Serpent, not after what he’s done, but FP doesn’t think Gavin is any better. Monster, rapist, is more fitting. “God, I’ve known him for years, I left Jug in his care, in the Serpents care and” he’s starting to break, can feel the tears, the rising sobs, the screams that want so desperately to escape. “He's just a kid, he's my kid, and I let this happen.”

“FP, this isn’t your fault” Claire reached for his hand, he took it, finding comfort in her touch. “You weren’t to know what Tall Boy was planning to do. You can’t blame yourself for this, it’s not going to help Jug, or you heal.”

He nods, throat tight, tears so close to spilling. He wipes angrily at his eyes, takes another sip of tea to distract himself from the heartache. “You're right; I need to look after Jughead.”

“I’ll be here for you, both of you” she squeezes his fingers lightly. “I’ll check in on you two after work tomorrow, and I'll get those blood samples to the lab and as soon as I have the results I’ll call you.”

“I hope to God he doesn’t have anything.”

“We’ll get through it” she reassures. “Though you aren’t going to be able to do it alone, neither is Jughead. I will be here when you need me, but it might be best to call some friends that you can trust.”

“I honestly don’t know who to trust right now” he admits “my own people betrayed me. I don’t think I’m going to be comfortable confining in anyone anytime soon. Excluding you” he adds, knowing without a doubt Claire is on their side, that she will take care of Jughead and if he asked she’d help him get justice.

“Well, that’s understandable. What about Jughead, though? I know you’ll be there for him, but he could really use the support of his friends.”

“Shouldn't I leave that up to him? I don't want to tell people if he isn't comfortable with them knowing. He's had enough of his power taken from him.”

“Maybe just encourage him to? This isn't going to be an easy recovery, the more moral support you both have, the better.”

“I get it,” he did, this was too much to go through alone, and he would have to tell Gladys, God she'd be furious, devastated. He couldn't handle the thought of telling her, of having to speak aloud the four-letter word that felt like glass in his mouth. He needed rest, to cry and rage, then he could face the aftermath “just give us a few days okay?”

“Okay,” Claire nods, surrendering for now. “I'm going to head home, make sure to give Jug his medication in the morning, and I know it's going to be uncomfortable, but it's critical you apply the ointment. I am deeply concerned about infection.” She pauses thoughtfully, eyes glistening with conflict before she adds “is internal injuries are severe FP, some of the worst I've seen, he’ll need monitoring closely and if he gets the slightest temperature call me right away.”

“I will” he bows his head to the hide the tears. He hates how hurt Jug is, that Tall Boy tore him apart so viciously. “Is there anything else I can do to help him with the discomfort?”

“I’m afraid there isn’t a lot” she smiles sympathetically. “Just keep him off his feet and give him his painkillers regularly. If the pain gets worse, call me or bring him to the clinic. He might also suffer from stomach cramps later, a side effect of the sexual assault, so I’ve left a hot water bottle by the kettle for you if he needs it, other than that all you can really do is be there for him.”

“I hope that’s enough.”

“It will be” she pats his hand, gives him one last fleeting smile then gets up to leave. “I’ll be back tomorrow at six pm. Just stay strong, okay?”

“Stay,” he asked, surprise colouring his voice, he felt anything but strong.

“Yes, stay” she stepped out into the cold, the wind blowing her dark locks about. “Get some sleep, FP, you've done all you can do tonight.”

With that she heads off into the night, FP locks the door and makes his way quietly to the bedroom, relieved to find Jug asleep at last. Even though he is bone he musters the energy to shower, needing to wash away his son’s blood, cleanse the night from his skin, scold away the memories though they are in too deep to come out. When his skin is scrubbed clean, and he's shed his share of tears he emerges, dries off and changes into clean clothes before making his way back to the bedroom. He climbs into bed, Jug stirs awake, seeking him out, needing his comfort and warmth. He falls asleep at quarter past one, holding his son in his arms, keeping him safe until morning light.

XxX

The sun is barely filtering in through the half-closed blinds when FP stirs awake. For a few precious moments he doesn’t remember the events of last night, he’s drifting in the blissful limbo between sleep and the waking world when he feels something shake him, the darkness scattering. He opens his heavy lids, finding Jughead’s bruised and batter face hovering above him, he looks miserable, cheeks damp from tears and skin ashen. The memories crash over him like a tidal wave, the force knocks the air from his lungs, images flickering in his mind. 

He blinks the images away, swallowing the bile and sits up, taking Jug into his arms. He’s trembling violently, mumbling and hyperventilating, clinging to him with one hand while the other clutches at his stomach. Claire’s words come back to him, he doesn’t understand the connection between the assault and his son’s stomach-ache, but he knows what needs to be done. He does his best to soothe Jughead before making a dash to the kitchen, moving quickly to boil the kettle and fill the water bottle.

It feels like it takes an age, Jughead’s sobs echo through the trailer, each cry a knife to FP’s heart. Rushing back to the room, he gently lies Jug down, giving him the water bottle to press against his stomach. It takes about twenty minutes to get Jug’s breathing under control, he falls back to sleep, clutching the water bottle like a lifeline. FP stays awake as long as he can, but fatigue wins in the end.

The next time he wakes the sun is high in the sky; the air is crisp, the trailer struggles to keep them warm on winter days. Something is not right; the bed feels empty, cold, he looks to his left and finds the space empty, blinded by panic he leaps to his feet, minding spinning with a thousand horrors. He’s made it to the bedroom door when hears running water, it stops him dead in his tracks, and he lets out a deep sigh of relief. Jughead’s just taking a shower; no one has crept in while he was asleep and took him, Tall Boy didn't come back to finish the job he failed to do last night.

FP walks towards the bathroom, rapping his knuckles against the thin wooden door before calling out “You okay in there, Juggie?” no answer, just running water and steam seeping out from beneath the door. FP twists the knob, glad for once there is no lock, and enters. The room is cloaked in mist, mirror fogged over and water blasting. “Kiddo?” he is starting to panic again, rushes to the stall, reaching for the curtain, heart in his throat.

He pulls it back, finding a devastating sight; Jughead is sitting curled up on the shower floor, head resting against the wall, blank eyes staring into space. FP shuts the water off, grabs a towel places it over Jughead's quivering frame. He flinches, eyes coming back to life, only the expression isn't any better than the lifeless stare. There is so much hurt and heartache, fear and guilt and a dozen other emotions he doesn't have time to catalogue right now.

“Jug, you with me?”

He nods, moving to stand, struggle, wincing from the pain, so FP lifts him out of the shower.

“Let’s get you dry and back to bed, okay?” Jughead doesn’t respond, merely continues to stare into space.

He dries his son tentatively, being mindful of his injuries and not to cause panic when he moves the towel towards his rear. The fluorescent light of the bathroom illuminates the bruises covering his son's body, fingerprints and hand marks are vivid against his pale flesh, especially around his bony hips. Tall Boy left every one of these, from the black eye, the ring of purple around his throat and the handprint on his backside. Tall Boy marked his son, he claimed him, tore him apart and FP was going to hurt him tenfold.

That would have to wait, it would need careful consideration, and he was too emotional right now, he didn’t want to fuck it up and get caught. He’d wait, he’d find the perfect punishment for the monster who violated his son. Now he had to be the caring father and get Jug dressed and back to bed. He leads him back to the bedroom, sitting him down on the edge of the bed while he goes to gather some new clothes for him. He’s hunting through one of the drawers for something clean when he remembers the medication and ointment sitting in the kitchen. Casting a glance over his shoulder he finds Jug has curled up on the bed, towel just covering his bruised body.

It seems cruel to put Jug through any more invasive treatment, but Claire's concern for infection outweighs his desire to let Jughead be. He collects a baggy sweater and a pair of boxers from the drawer and moves back to the bed, helping Jug to put it on before sitting down beside him and gently explaining what he's going to do. Jughead already knows all of this, he'd been conscious enough when Claire told them, but this at least gives him a few moments to emotionally prepare. For all the fear and misery swirling in his eyes, Jughead does a decent job at putting on a brave face, nodding along to his words and agreeing without complaint.

It's both admiring and heartbreaking. It makes FP worry that he might give up, he would have preferred some resistance, something that showed there was still a spark, a fighter within. Maybe he was being paranoid, and Jughead was still hanging in there, he was just smart enough to know that he needed this treatment. FP lets the troubled thoughts go, setting his mind on the task at hand. He feels uneasy, unsettled with what he has to do, it’s unusual for him to have anxiety, to have a tremor in his hands that has nothing to do with drinking too much.

He isn't used to being afraid, he's never been easily frightened, not even when he was Jughead’s age, it's why he'd gotten into so much trouble. The thought of doing this, though it must be done, makes his blood turn cold. He exhales the anxiety he has no to right to feel, it’s Jug who’s going to be in discomfort and him being nervous won’t help anything. With a deep breath he collects the items he needs from the kitchen and returns to his son.

“Alright, kiddo, let's get this over with” he offers a tired smile, chest lightening when the edges of Jug's mouths twitch into a smile, only it's gone too soon. FP tells him to roll over onto his back and move a little closer to the edge of the bed. He talks him through this, trying his best to keep his hands steady as he coats his finger with the ointment, “I’m going to touch you now, Juggie” he warns “try and relax, you’re safe.”

Jughead flinches at the first touch; it takes all his strength not to recoil, to keep his son from any more pain, but stopping now would only make it more difficult to start again. “I'm going to push my finger in and turn it as gently as possible to coat the area, alright?” his vision blurs, he can feel Jug clench around his finger, a whimper escape into the air. “Hold on Juggie; I'm almost done, you're doing so well.” He felt Jughead’s muscles tighten once more, a weak cry following. “I'm taking my finger out now bub; It's okay.”

He pulled the gloves off, tossing them into the wastebasket and setting the ointment aside on the nightstand. “You did good, kiddo” he praises, helping Jughead shimmy into his boxers before tucking him back under the covers. “You want me to go make some breakfast?”

“I don’t know” he shrugged, bottom lip trembling the way it did when he was about to cry. “Can you just hold me for a while?”

“Yeah” he slips under the covers, it’s a bitterly cold day, and wraps an arm around Jug’s shoulder, leaning back against the headboard to support them both. Jughead presses impossibly close, fingers knotting in the fabric of his faded AC/DC t-shirt. “You’re safe now, bub.”

“I know” he murmured “but I can’t seem to make the fear go away.”

He doesn't know what to say this; there isn't anything that will make the fear evaporate from Jughead's veins, it's part of the trauma and today is only day one on the road to recovery.

XxX

The following days go by slowly, Jughead’s mood shift with each passing hour, he rages and cries, refuses to eat, to be held or comforted. The nightmares start, Jug screams himself hoarse, wakes terrified, sometimes seeking comfort other times curling in on himself and refusing to be touched. FP hates it when he pulls away, slams his walls up, it’s a natural response given all he’s been through, but it doesn’t stop his heart from shattering when Jug screams at him to go away, to not touch him. The fear in his voices knocks the air from his lungs, his son is afraid of him and though he understands, the rejection still stings.

At day when he's curled up on the couch watching TV and is docile from the anti-anxiety medication Claire had prescribed him, he lets FP hold him, seeks him out for comfort. The tables can just easily flip, sometimes at day he withdraws into himself, refusing to talk or eat or move. These are the worst moments, when Jughead shuts himself away, and FP is at a loss at what to do, and he feels like the bad guy because he has to force Jughead to swallow his pills and to let him apply the ointment.

It’s been five days since that God-awful night, and they haven’t left the trailer, hasn’t told anyone but Gladys what happened, and she didn’t even seem to care that her son had been raped. The only other person he has is Claire, who occasionally drops in to with home cooked meals, offering her emotional support and checking over Jug’s injuries. He is healing well, there have been no infection and by some miracle his blood work came back negative for any STD’s or HIV. Jughead's body is healing, time is moving on outside these four walls, people go on with their lives, unaware that the fire that burnt down a small farmhouse holds such a dark secret. He wonders if Tall Boy and the others are going to skip town or come back and burn the trailer down while they sleep.

Nothing happens, no one comes for them in the night, so he starts to plot his revenge. When Jughead wakes on the fifth day, and FP brings him scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, which he refuses to eat, he thinks it's going to be a day for rage and quiet fear. He lets him be, checking on him twenty minutes later only to find him hiding under the covers crying, a day of sorrow and anxiety then. FP is so tired, this is too much to handle alone and he is afraid he isn’t enough to get Jughead through this. Hell, who is he kidding, he knows he's not enough to get Jughead through this. Claire isn't an option today, she's helped Jug immensely, but it's time to let other people know, to bring in the one-person Jughead should have by his side through this.

He calls Archie, and even though it's ten o'clock on a school day, he says he'll be right there. He doesn't tell Archie what happened, he isn't sure if he should, it’s not his place. Jughead needs Archie though, because clearly, he is doing something wrong, evident by the fact he can’t get Jug to stop crying. When Archie arrives, with those damn puppy dog eyes glistening with distress, he decides he’ll only tell half the story. It’s up to Jughead if he wishes to share the rest. He sits Archie down, bracing himself, knowing this will hurt Archie just as much as its hurting him. At least Jug’s sobs have quietened, there is only the sound of the wind and a dog barking a block away as FP reveals the horrors of last Friday night.

Archie’s face turns red with anger, his hands ball into fists as he shoots to his feet, telling FP they should go the Whyte Wyrm right now and confront Tall Boy. FP steadies him, though he admires his gumption and devotion, charging into the Wyrm in a fit of rage isn’t going to fix anything. He assures Archie that Tall Boy will pay, it’s going to take time, he needs to work out who he can trust and who can’t, and he still has to figure out if Penny had a hand in this. When Archie calms he sends him on his way, warning him that Jug isn’t in a very good place and he’s still pretty hurt and jumpy so be cautious and gentle.

Archie nods, looks thirteen years old again and FP feels awful for dragging him into this, especially when he says, ‘I had a feeling Jug was hiding something, but I wasn’t expecting this.’ He sounds so damn broken, and it's only going to get worse when or if Jughead tells him he was raped. It’s too late to turn back, he pats Archie on the shoulder and watches him walk into the dark.

XxX

He can't make it stop; the fear has become a living beast inside his chest, racing through his veins. The nightmares make it worse, make it grow and shift into something ugly, turning it into a rage he cannot contain. Jughead doesn't mean to snap at his dad, to push him away and raise the iron walls. Deep down he wants his father's comfort, he feels safer when he is near, but at times the nightmares twist his mind, making him confused, scared of the one person he can trust. He recoils from his dad's touch, body jerking away like an outside force is pulling his strings, he feels rage burn through his veins, hatred like he's never felt before.

When the fire dies, leaving nothing but smouldering ash he feels awful, feels a tidal wave of sadness wash over him, dragging him down into the murky waters. His emotions are ever changing; he becomes hysterical at some point, he doesn’t remember which day it’s all blurred together, and his dad is forced to call Claire. She arrives with an anti-anxiety medication, which doesn't fix anything, just makes the pain and fear feel far away. It's still there, building, growing with each passing hour and with each dawn he wakes to discover he's lost a little more of himself.

It's been five days; his body is healing well, the physical pain is tolerable, the war in his mind, however, is tearing him apart. It's sorrow that takes centre place today, grief heavy in his lungs, thick in the frigid stale air of the bedroom. He can't stop crying, can't make the tears dry or the tremors ease from his fragile, aching frame. Breakfast sits untouched on his nightstand, he curls up under the mountain of blankets, waiting for the storm to pass.

Time moves by, the tears ebb, he feels hollow, frozen to the core. He lies and listens, the wind howls like a ghost, a dog barks from a few blocks away, and the floorboards creak under careful footsteps. He tenses, waiting with baited breath, the footsteps are too tentative to be his fathers. Blind panic surges through his bloodstream, Tall Boy has returned for him; he's going to hurt him again, going to finish what he started. He's dizzy with fear when he hears a familiar voice, one that wraps around him, scattering the chills.

“Archie?” he peeks out from under the covers, finding his red-headed best friend hovering near him. “Archie, what are you doing here?”

“Your dad called” he answered, hesitating before sitting on the edge of the bed. “He told me Tall Boy attacked you.” He reaches out, a calloused thumb from hours of guitar playing whispering over the bruise under his eye. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was ashamed” he admitted, bowing his head to hide the tears. “It was my fault… I didn’t want you to know.”

“How is this your fault, Jug?”

He sits up, studying Archie’s expression carefully. He looks concerned, brown eyes clouded with distress, a hint of hurt but he seems composed, which means he doesn’t know the whole story. Jughead isn’t sure if he wished his dad told Archie or not, it would have been easier, though he is also grateful since it’s not his choice. Jughead could hold tight to this secret, keep Archie safe from the truth, but there have been enough lies, enough secrets between them. Archie deserves the truth, even if it’s going to break them both.

“I antagonised Tall Boy, I told him to stop being a little bitch, and that's why he did this,” he explained, lowering his gaze in shame.

“Juggie, this isn’t fault,” Archie insists “Tell me what happened, from the start.”

He takes a deep breath, it’s going to be difficult to talk about this, he hasn’t spoken a word about what happened, he hasn’t needed too, but now he’s going to let it all rush out. “Tall Boy showed up here Friday after school, said he needed to talk with dad but he was still at Pop’s, so he said he’d wait.” He paused, Archie sensing his distress reaches out to take his hand “I don’t really remember what happened but one minute I was making a coffee and the next I am waking up in a basement, dad was there too, tied to a chair.”

It hurts to speak, the words sharp in his mouth, “Tall Boy knocked me around a little before dad came too. I thought that's all it would be, a beating but he,” he chokes on a sob, daring a peak, finding Archie tense, breath held. “He… he…” the word is glass on his tongue, each syllable cuts deep “he… he raped me, Archie.”

The air rushes out of Archie’s lung, sounding like a jagged cry. “Juggie, oh God, Juggie, I am so sorry.”

“It's not you faulted” he sniffled, “you told me to be careful, but I didn't listen. I thought I could trust the Serpents, but I was wrong.”

“Juggie, hey” Archie cradles his chin in the crook of his fingers, tilting his face up so their eyes can meet. “This isn't your fault. You are a kid, what he did was wrong. He should go to jail. Why didn't you go the police? Did… did the other Serpents hurt you?”

“I don't trust the system to put Tall Boy away, especially if he has Penny on his side.” He explained, trying to pull it together, only to feel the threads unravel “and no, the others didn't hurt me, they were just the extra muscle.” He closes his eyes, fighting against the memories of Tall Boy throwing him over his dad’s lap. “Tall Boy… he raped me twice,” his face crumples, another wave of tears overcome him, “God Arch, it hurt so much.”

“Oh my God” he exclaimed, reaching for Jug, “did you at least go to the hospital? And did Penny have something to do with this? Fuck, Jug this isn’t okay. What’s going to happen?”

“Dad has a friend who is a nurse, she patched me up” Archie doesn't need to know the details of his injuries, it would only cause him more pain. “I have a feeling Penny is involved with this in some way, but I highly doubt she forced Tall Boy into it.” Anger colours his tone, boils in his blood, Tall Boy relished in taking him apart, in taunting him and his dad. Maybe he was the one who went to Penny with the idea, he couldn’t be certain but part of him wants to find out.

“I don't know what's going to happen; I guess dad will take care of it.” There is a flicker of satisfaction at the thought of his dad punishing Tall Boy for what he did, but that is followed by fear, fear of him getting caught and going away again. “I don't know; maybe I should just let it go.”

“No way, Jug” Archie grasps his shoulders like he is going to shake some sense into him, but he just holds onto him. “They have to pay for this! God, I want to kneecap them, especially Tall Boy.”

Archie's rage is fierce; he makes Jug wish he could feel such anger, not just brief bursts of it, instead he feels hollow, feels the sorrow and tears rise once more. “Archie, promise me you won't do anything, please? I couldn't handle it if they hurt you too. Just, just let my dad handle it okay?”

Archie deflates, breathing out the rage “I promise, Jug.”

“Thank you” his lips quirk into fleeting smile. “Can we keep this between us for a while? I'm not ready for other to people to know.”

“Yeah, of course, Jug” he returns the smile, fighting back his own grief.

“I’m glad you’re here, Archie” He moved over, motioning for Archie to climb into bed with him.

“I'm glad I'm here too” he slipped under the covers, wrapping an arm around Jug's narrow shoulders “and I'm not going anywhere Jug. So, you can talk to me, about how you feel or about the night it happened, and I'll listen” he sealed his words with a tender kiss to Jug's temple, “and I will be here to remind you that this isn't your fault.”

Jughead lets Archie's presence calm him; it doesn't chase the sorrow from his bones or the fear from his gut, only time can do that. Archie's love, his words, they help him start to mend, they remind him that his father doesn't blame him for this, that he will do everything in his power to help him recover. He'd forgotten the words his father spoke to him that night, they'd been lost to pain, tears and nightmares but now they floated back, sparked to life by Archie's.

This wasn’t his fault, it never was. His words to Tall Boy didn’t warrant such cruelty. The only person to blame was him and the other Serpents. This wasn't his fault, it wasn't his dad's fault, it was just something truly awful that happened, and now he had to live with it. 

XxX

It's Friday night when FP gets his revenge. It seems fitting that he chose the same day, a week after that God-awful night. It was too easy to track down Tall Boy and the other Serpents, after the fire failed to clean up their mess they'd run off to Greendale, they should have run further. He'd returned to the Whyte Wyrm on the sixth day to gather information, leaving Jughead at home with Claire, after he spent the previous day working out precisely what Tall Boy's punishment would be.

He'd strolled into the bar, a king returning to his castle and studied everyone carefully, wondering how many of his men had turned on him, had known or taken part in the violation of his son. He spends a few hours talking with his fellow Serpents, those who he considered close asked where he's been. He tells them Jughead been home with the flu and when he is met with genuine concern for his Jughead’s wellbeing he strikes their name off his list. FP takes his time, chooses his words carefully and when he has the information he was seeking, and he is assured there are no more traitors in his midst he goes home to his son.

That night he plans, he conjures up all forms of painful ways to make Tall Boy sorry for what he did. The other's will be punished too, for they did nothing, they watched, they helped a twisted fuck fulfil some sick rape fantasy. When the plan is set, he puts things in motions. First, he invites Archie around to spend the night with Jughead, says he has to work the late shift at Pop’s and Archie believes it, but Jug gives him a look that says he knows something is up.

He hugs Jughead goodbye, he seems so fragile, so small buried in the layers of clothing, so lost with his eyes tired and haunted. There is such a long road of recovery ahead of him, of them, it's stretching out further than FP can see. He knows that what he's about to do won't help Jug heal any quicker, it won't change the past, there is no undoing the damage, but at least Tall Boy will never be able to hurt anyone again the way he hurt Jughead. He was a fool to think he'd get away with this, that a fire would snuff out the Jones'. He is strong, Jughead is strong, and that's how he knows there is a far-off day where things will be better, it's just still out of sight.

He heads out into the night, a hunter seeking its prey. He finds the three Serpents in a seedy bar on the edge of Greendale, hustling pool and drinking beers, laughing at stupid jokes like they haven't taken witness the rape of sixteen-year old kid. It takes all his strength not to start something then and there, he exhales the rage, he needs to stay calm, he won't risk screwing this up. He watches from the shadows, follows the weakest link outside, the one he remembers looking somewhat guilty while Tall Boy raped his son. FP corners him, shoves him into a trash-strewn alleyway, grabs him by the labels of his Serpent jacket and rams him against a wall. He, Hunter, FP thinks is name is, looks terrified, is already babbling about being sorry. He doesn't want to hear it, sorry doesn't unrape his son.

Sorry isn’t going to take away the nightmares, the post-traumatic stress disorder that he and Jug have. He hasn’t told anyone, not even Claire, but he’s been plagued with nightmares of that night, he feels anxious and fearful, feels grief and regret heavy in his gut. He doesn’t’ feel he has to the right to these emotions, not when it was Jughead who was hurt, who was raped, but God it feels like he’s being torn apart at seams. Right now, with this coward in his grasps, the rage grows, it’s alive, making him very, very dangerous and this fool knows it.

“Man, look, it was Tall Boy’s idea, I didn’t ha-”

FP strikes him across the face, cutting him off short “I don't care, you could have done something, warned me but you just watched! You let it happen, you betrayed your own, and you know the punishment for that.”

“FP, please, I'll tell you where he is” he is frantic, desperate to save his skin but he's not getting out of this. “Tall Boy's at motel fifty-nine, room seven. He's been laying low; I think he's planning to skip town once Penny lets him.”

The rage crackles like lightning over his skin at the mention of her name, Hunter shrinks, shaking like a leaf caught in the wind “Was Penny involved in this?”

“I don't know, man. Look, Tall Boy offered me some money to knock you out and bring you to that stupid farmhouse” he shakes his head, holding his hands up in defence. “I needed the money; I got a kid on the way man.”

FP's blood turns to fire, he throws Hunter to the ground, pressing a boot to his chest to keep him there. “You have a child on the way, and yet you helped some maniac rape mine?”

“I didn't know that was going to happen” he confessed, eyes glistening with tears, begging for mercy but there would be none. “We were all a little sick of Jughead throwing fits and bossing us around, especially when he's not really one of us. You know Major caught him fooling around with that red-headed preppy kid from the North side?”

FP doesn't falter, though he can't help but wonder when Jughead and Archie started ‘fooling' around and if so, did that mean Tall Boy didn't take his virginity? It doesn't make what happened any less awful; he makes a mental note to ask Jughead. Of course, usually he had no desire to hear about his kid’s sex life, but this is different, no one deserves to lose their virginity that way. Retuning his focus to the task at hand, he stripes Hunter of his Serpent jacket, pinning him back to the filthy, damp ground.

“So, you come talk to me; you don't harm a sixteen-year-old kid!” He hisses, hating that he can't shout, that he can't scream abuse at this piece of shit, but he can't risk people overhearing, “and my son is more Serpent then you'll ever be.” He retrieves his switchblade; the glint of silver brings fear to Hunter's eyes. He drops down next to him, lifting his shirt to reveal the two-headed serpent tattoo that is inked onto his chest. “I never want to see you step foot in the Whyte Wyrm again.” He covers Hunter's mouth, “you are no longer a southside Serpent, and you are banished from Riverdale” the blade slices into the tattoo, severing the Serpent in two, then fours, then six's, until it's a mess of bloody red lines. “I sincerely hope your child never goes through what you put mine through.”

He rises, quivering in rage, stomach churning, hands dripping crimson. He walks away, leaving Hunter moaning in the alley, climbs back into the truck and takes off, heading in the direction of motel fifty-nine.

XxX

Jughead can't settle, his trying to relax into Archie's warm embrace, they are snuggled up on the couch watching reruns of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, but he can't get his mind to quieten. It's a different kind of fear that is plaguing him tonight, by now he's almost used to feeling afraid. Tonight, it's different though; it's not the uneasy feeling of fear sitting beneath his skin, resting in his bones that makes him restless, jumpy, no it's concern for his father. Jug knows he is up to something, there was a look of determination in his eyes, nervous energy buzzing in the air around him and there was something to the way he held on so tight.

FP wasn't going to work the late shift at Pop's, no, he was going to find Tall Boy and punish him for his betrayal. Jughead knows he should want Tall Boy to suffer for the pain he put him through, the pain he is still putting him through, but he doesn't want his dad to risk going back to jail. He doesn't want to lose his dad, not after just getting him back, not after what's happened. He can't do this without him. If he picked up the phone and called him, begged him to come home, would he? Jughead wasn't sure; there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, a thirst for blood and a desire for revenge.

“Juggie, are you okay,” Archie asked, pausing the DVD so he could give him his undivided attention.

“No, not really” he confessed, he hadn’t felt okay in days, hadn’t felt anything even remotely close to it. “I think dad’s gone after Tall Boy, I can sense it in my bones. I’m scared, Arch, I don’t want to lose him again. I couldn’t handle that right now.”

“Jug, you won't lose him again” Archie reassured. “Your dad knows what he's doing; he won't get caught.” He pauses, Jughead can sense he wants to say more, there is a strange glint in his eyes. “I hope he does hurt Tall Boy, after what he did to you he deserves it. I wish he'd told me; I'd like to kick his teeth in.” Archie bristles with rage, it crackles in the air between them, making him feel uneasy, withdraw to the other end of the sofa. This snaps Archie out of his spell, hurt flickering in his eyes, panic crossing his face. “Jug?”

“Sorry” he gets up, starts pacing, there is so much nervous energy burning under his skin. “I'm just anxious. It's nothing you did” he rushes to assure when he sees guilt flash in Archie's gaze. “I'm torn, I want dad to hurt Tall Boy, for him to feel as scared as I did, to feel the agony I felt” he falters, feeling grief swell in his chest, the tears gather in his eyes. “I just don't know, Archie. I just don't know what to feel anymore.”

Archie is up an instant, taking him into his arms, “Hey, shh, it's okay not to know how to feel. After my dad and everything with the Black Hood, I felt so afraid, like I couldn't sit still or think of anything other than how fucking terrified I was. I sat by the front door every night, with a baseball bat, waiting for him to return. I was certain he would, certain that I would be stuck in that fear forever.” He cups Jug's face, loops the other arm around his waist and holds him steady. “It got better, Jug. It took a while, but eventually, with each day the fear started to become less and less. I know what happened to you is different, and I'd never compare it to my dad getting shot, I just want you to know it's going to be okay, that it will get better.”

He nods, knowing Archie is right, that of course there is an end to this misery, it’s just out of reach, out of sight. “But not tonight” he whispered, feeling the tears escape, the weight of the darkness crash into him. “I don’t feel okay tonight, Archie.”

“I know, and you don’t have too” he pulls him in for a hug, Jughead deflates, safe at least in Archie’s embrace. “Is there anything I can do Jug? God, you’re shaking.” Archie eases back, holding him at arm’s length, studying him thoughtfully. “Did I make it worse?”

“No, Arch, you didn't make it worse” he tries to smile, it feels more like a grimace, but it erases the guilt from Archie's face, so he counts it as a win. “I did need to hear that; I'm probably going to need to hear that a lot; and I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you after your dad was shot, not like I should have been.”

“We haven’t been there enough for each other lately, Jug” he admits, “That stops now. I am going to be here for you through this, okay? So please, Juggie, what can I do to help you feel not so afraid right now?”

“I have some medication; it's for anxiety, I can take that. Nothing else can really help” he explained, “but having you here is nice, I've missed you. I've missed us.”

“So, have I” he smiles, fleeting and warm like a summers day. “We can talk more about us when you’re better; where is your medication? Do you want me to get it for you?”

“It’s in the bedroom, on the nightstand by the bed.”

“Okay, go sit down, and I'll grab it for you.”

“Thank you, Archie” he moves to the couch, wrapping the blanket around him before settling down. Archie returns a moment later with a glass of water and a little white pill in his hand, he thanks him again and swallows the tablet. Archie sits down near him, not touching but there if he reached out to him. “It'll kick in soon” he shifted, resting his head on Archie's shoulder “I hate feeling like this.”

“It’ll get better” he kisses Jug’s head, raven locks tickling his nose, making him pause to ponder, “Where’s your hat?”

“I don't know” he sighed, it had been missing ever since that night. He'd looked for it, almost tore the place apart trying to find it, caused himself a lot of pain in the process too, but he came up empty. He's ashamed to say he was rather hysterical when he couldn't find it. His dad emerged from the shower, finding him in the living room, crying, surrounded by overturned furniture. He sobbed brokenly, a broken boy sitting among the ruin. His father gathered him his arms, quidding him to the bedroom where he tucked him into bed, staying with him until he the tears dried, and he drifted to sleep. When he woke everything was put back into its rightful place, but his hat was not found. “I haven't seen it since last Friday.”

“It’ll turn up” he sounds so hopeful, so certain. Even after everything he’s been through Archie still believes good things will happen, that things will get better.

“Maybe.”

“Juggie… don’t give up.”

As hurt, as grief-stricken and shaken as he is, he hasn't thought of giving up, not once. He'd been in too much pain to move, to sad to get up and face the day, but there is still a spark burning. Tall Boy sought to destroy him, to ruin his life, well, he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Maybe it's the meds making the fear float away, perhaps it's Archie's words and warm embrace and his dad's devotion, but at this moment, he refuses to let the fire burn out.

He won't be another tragedy for people to gossip about, he won't be another sad story for the papers to write about. It would get better, Archie promised him that, it was just going to hurt like hell getting there. So, no, he wouldn't give up, and if he ever felt like it, then he'd anchored himself to Archie, to his dad, the two people who loved him the most. On the days he couldn't fight for himself, he'd fight for them.

“I won’t, Archie” he promised, feeling the drug kick in, chasing away the whirling thoughts and overwhelming panic, “I won’t.”

XxX

True to Hunter's word Tall Boy is staying at some rundown, ugly yellow brick motel with a near empty parking lot and a big red neon sign that says Motel Fifty-Nine. He is in room seven, drinking beer and eating pizza, watching TV when FP breaks in. He jumps, spills his beer, leaping from the bed in a panic, he looks so pathetic. FP locks the door, feels satisfied when Tall Boy backs up, crashing into the dresser, he knows he's fucked up. FP motions towards the bed, he doesn't think this will go as smoothly, so when Tall Boy rushes him, he isn't surprised.

They tumble, throw fists, fight dirty, but FP is victories thanks to Claire. She'd given him something to knock him out, just long enough for him to set everything up. He's not going to kill Tall Boy; death would be too kind, no, he is going to make sure he never hurts anyone the way he hurt his son again. He ties him to the headboard, stuffs his mouth with a dirty rag and slaps him awake. What he's about to do is cruel, is cold-hearted. He's shaking with anticipation, he knows he has a temper, that he's hurt people more times than he can count but never has it been pre-meditated.

There is no remorse, not for this coward. This rapist. Before he can get his revenge, he needs to know how deep the betrayal runs, to know if Penny is involved. Tall Boy is tougher to crack then Hunter, FP has to work for his answers, he doesn't mind. In the end, it turns out there was a conversation between him and Penny about their hatred for his son, not long after she organised the farmhouse for him, told him to burn it down afterwards. She encouraged his sick desire. She set the plan in motion, and Tall Boy had only been too eager to go along with it. He mocks FP, says disgusting things about how good it felt to fuck Jughead, make him bleed and cry in pain, to dirty his perfect boy.

He hits him for this, seethes with rage, feeling sick as the memories swirl through his mind. Jughead was just a child, he could be a drama queen, could get consumed and caught up in things, but he was his son, his boy and what Tall Boy did was monstrous. Tall Boy keeps speaking, taunting, telling him how tight Jug was, how he should have fucked him sooner, back when he wasn't around to stop him. FP stuffs the rag back into his mouth, picks up the baseball bat that had sat unused in a closet for years, watches the horror flicker in Tall Boy's eyes, then slams it down right between his legs. FP is glad the motel is far away from town, that the owners have gone for the night and all other ten rooms are empty because Tall Boy's scream is thunderous.

He brings the bat down again, there is the sound of bones breaking, of his manhood getting crushed. He would never enjoy pleasure again, never get to rape another innocent teenager. He brings the bat down once more; Tall Boy is semi-unconscious by now. The bat clatters to the floor, FP breaths in deeply, hands shaking as he rolls up Tall Boy's sleeve, revealing the Serpent tattoo. He curves into his flesh, mangling the tattoo, removing him from his life, from the people who'd been there for him.

“You will never hurt anyone again” he pants “you will never hurt my son again.” He leans in, pressing down on the wound “and if you tell anyone who did this to you, I will make sure this whole town knows you’re a fucking rapist. You won’t have a safe corner to hide in.” he lets go, wiping the blood off on the bed covers “oh, and tell Penny she’d best pack her bags, I’m not afraid to hurt her for the part she played in this.”

“You may have ruined me” he hissed, struggling to speak, to stay conscious “but I ruined your kid first.”

FP strikes him across the face, “You may have violated my son, but he's not ruined. Mark my words, he will get out of that good for nothing town, and one day when you're at the end of another bottle, my kid will be living the life he deserves. He'll be happy, I won't let you take that from him” he bends down to collect the bat, this time bringing it down on his left knee, the bone makes a sickening crunch. “You don't get to brag about what you did, you are sick” he brings the bat down on his other knee, he's blinded by fury. “You are a rapist.” Again, he aimed for his crutch, satisfied and horrified at the God-awful noses that fill the room.

He sways wear he stands, sweated soaked and speckled with blood, chest heaving as he says, “Have a nice life.”

He collects his things, frees Tall Boy of his binds and breaths deeply, trying to expel the rage from his veins. He's heading for the door, the sound of groans and sobs following him when a familiar item catches his eye. By the door, sitting on a chair along with the Serpent jacket, is Jughead's crown beanie, the one his mum sewed him for his fifth birthday. Tall Boy had it all this time, kept it as a prize. FP picks it up with his clean hand, cradling it to his chest. He won't allow this to ruin Jug's life, he can't begin to the fathom what Jug is going through right now, but there is just no way Tall Boy gets to win.

He won't fail Jughead again; he has enough regrets to last a thousand lifetimes, losing his son won't be another one.

XxX

FP doesn't get home until dawn; he visits the two other Serpents, grateful they live alone in the quiet, shadowy parts of town and mutilates their tattoos and takes their jackets, a punishment every Serpent who betrayals their family receives. It takes a long time to calm down; the rage had twisted in his gut, memories of last Friday night swirling in his mind. After cleaning himself up in a gas station bathroom he finds himself at a laundromat that is open twenty-four-seven, clutching the worn-out beanie to his chest.

He didn't want to return it to Jug like this, it smelt like cigarettes, like beer and sweat and has stains on it he doesn't want to identify. He puts in the washer, on the lowest setting as not to damage it, buys a packet of chips and soda from the vending machine and sits, fidgeting with the pins that usually adorn the beanie. By the time it's washed, it's almost three, it smells of cheap laundry soap, is damp and heavy in his hands and he can't remember if it is safe to put in the dry, they'd never one, so he isn't sure he should risk it.

He ends up hanging it on the edge of the rear-view mirror, winds the windows down and drives back to Riverdale. It's mostly dry when he returns home; he sets on the table for Jughead to see in the morning. It's nearing four as he tiptoes down the hallway to the bedroom, finding Jug and Archie curled up in bed together. The sight brings a small smile to his face, reminds him of Hunter's earlier words and he hopes, even as strange as it might be, that Jug got to have his first time with the boy he loved.

He'd ask when the time was right, for now, he is shrugging off his jacket, kicking off his boots and collapsing on the couch, succumbing to his fatigue at last.

***

The sun is filtering in through the blinds, casting a direct beam across FP's face, stirring him from slumber. He groans, rolling over, body aching from exhaustion, from being up all night seeking revenge. He bolts upright, last night’s events washing over him, he surveys the trailer, expecting to find someone pointing a gun at him, screaming hands up. There is just silence, the kind that only occurs when the place is empty. Panic kicks in, he rushes towards the bedroom, finding the bed empty, covers rumbled. He races back to where he left his cell charging on the kitchen counter, only on the way there his eyes catch sight of the kitchen table, finding a note where Jug's hat had been.

Breathing a sigh of relief, scolding himself for freaking out so quickly he plucks the note from the table, finding Jughead's fancy handwriting scrawled over the yellow paper. Hey dad, you found my hat! Where was it? Arch and I going to Pop’s, I’ll bring you back something. A smile graces his face, Jughead going out is a big deal, it's a step in the right direction. He'd been too afraid to leave the trailer the past week, FP had tried to coax him into going to Pop's only to no avail.

He feels a little dejected at not being the one he chose to go, but it's most likely he wasn't ready, now he is, or at least he is today. And well its Archie, he always had this way with Jughead, there was a bond between them that no one could break. They had their fights, their ups and downs but in the end, they always found their way back to each other. FP is grateful Jughead as Archie to support him through this.

He tucks the note into his pocket, keeping it close to his heart and goes to make a coffee when the door swings open and Jughead steps in, looking happier then he has in days. He comes bearing treats, a large coffee and a stack of pancakes, FP's stomach growls; he didn't realise how starving he was until now. They sit down at the table together; Jug studies him carefully, he knows something went on last night, the kid can direct a lie a mile off.

“Were you okay last night?” he asked, digging into his meal, no one does pancakes better than Pop Tate.

“Kinda” he shrugged, removed his beanie and started wringing it in hands, a nervous habit he hasn’t seen in a while. “I was worried about you.”

“I was fine, Jug” he takes a sip of coffee, hoping that his kid will drop the subject, but he should know better by now.

“You weren't at Pop's,” he said, twisting and twisting the worn-out fabric around his fingers. “He said he hasn't seen you since the other week.”

FP swallows his food, sighs, knowing that keeping the truth from Jughead will do more harm than good. “I took care of it, Jug.”

“Of the Serpents?” he asks, sounding afraid, not of him but for him “and Tall Boy?”

“There not Serpents anymore” he informs, “They betrayed us, and they were punished accordingly.”

“You took their tattoos?”

“Curved them up” he replied flatly, “it’s less then what they deserve.”

“Do you do anything else” he pauses, chewing on his bottom lip “to Tall Boy?”

“Do you want to know” he isn’t sure revealing the details is a good idea, his son has witnessed enough horror, he doesn’t need to hear about anymore, doesn’t need to know his father is capable of such violence.

“No” he looks down, shaking his head. “I just want him never to be able to rape anyone again.”

FP flinches at the word, he's said it himself, heard Claire say it, yet hearing it come from his son feels like a punch to the gut. “He'll never be able to rape anyone ever again,” he says calmly, the four-letter word sour in his mouth, sharp on his tongue but there is no point using some watered-down replacement, it's what happened. His son was raped, in front of him, on him, it's unchangeable.

Jughead looks up, placing the crown beanie securely on his head as he says “Good.”

FP can't hold back the smile, so proud that Jughead is still fighting. “I know things aren't gonna be the same, Jug, and we've got a long way to go before we reach some resemblance of normal, but I want you to know I am proud of you. That you are strong enough to get through this,” he reaches across the table for Jug’s hand “Tall Boy didn't ruin you or make you any less you, you know that, right?”

“I keep trying to remind myself” he admitted, lowering his gaze “it's not always easy.” He hesitates, balls his hand into a tight fist, knuckles turning white, “and he did take something from me.”

Oh no, oh God no, he was hoping this wasn't the case “Your virginity” he says when Jughead seems to struggle to form words.

He nods, face crumpling as he starts to cry.

“Juggie, I'm so sorry,” FP slides his chair closer, wrapping an arm around his shaking son's shoulder. “I know this might be too soon, but I promise you sex isn't like that. When or if you and Archie decide to take things further it won't be like what Tall Boy did to you.”

Jughead looks up, and to FP's surprise, he laughs “Oh, I'm glad you won't be watching” he sniffles, shakes his head “sorry, not funny. I guess I have just poor coping skills.”

“You’re not the only one” he admits, sighing. He isn’t surprised Jughead is restoring to using his snark humour to cope with this, it’s not going to help any but he’d rather Jughead let everything out, even if it’s an inappropriate joke. “I think, when you’re ready, it might be good to talk to someone.”

“Probably a wise choice” he brushes away the tears. “How did you know about Archie and me?” he arches a brow, the first sign of curiosity he has seen all week “and did you think we'd slept together?”

“Word gets around” Jughead doesn't need to know that Hunter told him, that he'd been clueless up until that point, though honestly, it was no surprise given their history. “And is it wrong to say I was hoping”

“Not in this situation” he assures. “We only kissed, before you went away, and all the stuff happened with the Black Hood, and I joined the Serpents. We pushed each other away; I can't help but wonder what would have happened if we didn't? Who knows, maybe Archie would have got dragged into this mess too.”

There isn’t much FP can say to this, there is no way to tell if them being together would have saved Jug from this cruel fate, all he can say is “I’m sorry, bub.”

“So am I” he deflates, the happiness from earlier swept away. They sit in silence for a few moments, FP watches the turmoil flicker in his eyes, sees him struggle to pick up the pieces and soldier on. “I'm going to have a shower” he announces, “Claire will be here after lunch for the follow up internal examination” he shudders involuntary, FP tightens his hold on him.

“Want me to be there for it?”

“Um, yeah, I’d like that.”

“Alright, go have your shower, and I'll finish up here.”

He watches Jughead leave, shoulders heavy under the weight of the world, when he is gone from sight he returns to his meal, though it's cold by now. He gets up to reheat it, hearing Jug walk back into the room. “Everything okay,” he asks, mind already preparing him for something terrible.

“My hat, where’d you find it?”

Last night he already decided he wasn’t going to tell him Tall Boy had it, his son may be good at telling lies, but he was even better at telling them, especially when it meant keeping someone he loved safe. “Outside, under the trailer, must have fallen off when…” he trails off, choking on the words “anyway I took it to the laundromat and washed it for you.” He strolls over to him, smoothing his hands over the fabric.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, Jug.”

Jug turns to leave, heisting, staring at him with glassy blue eyes, one last question leaving his tongue “We’re going to be okay, right?”

“We’re going to be okay” he seals his words with a gentle kiss to Jug’s forehead, he smiles half-heartedly, nods and slips free from his grasp, disappearing down the hall.

FP's lips quirk into a smile; he believes what he said with all his heart. He knows it's going to take time, a lot of work, love and care and patience but they would be okay. No, they'd be better. This was his last chance to be a good father, to be better, to make sure Jughead went to college, was happy and safe. He'd promised his son he'd be better a thousand times before, this time he wasn't breaking his vow; it's just such a shame it took Jughead getting raped for him to wake up and finally change his lifestyle.

He always knew it was dangerous, hell he should have foreseen something like this coming with the way some men looked at his son, the way they offered money for him. He never believed it would happen though, things like that happen to other people. But it did, and he regrets not heeding the warning, seeing the big red flashing warning sign. He can't undo the past, can't make amends for what Tall Boy did to Jughead, he can only support him through this, and he will get him through this. No matter how awful the days get, no matter how terrifying the nightmares become he will be here to guide Jughead towards those far off better days.

Things were going to change; he was going to change, there'd be more regrets.

 

 


End file.
